


Explode on the Way

by infinitevariety (disapparater)



Series: Summer Omens [29]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Fireworks, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Rants, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Summer Omens (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27738040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/infinitevariety
Summary: Fireworks start going off… then so does Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Summer Omens [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836280
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Explode on the Way

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer Omens prompt FIREWORKS and originally posted [here](https://infinitevariety.tumblr.com/post/635879469971800064/fireworks).

_Whizz... BANG!_

Aziraphale looks up from his book to see Crowley, previously napping contentedly, sit bolt upright on the sofa.

“Wassat?” Crowley groggily asks.

“A firework, I think,” answers Aziraphale. “It certainly came from outside.”

Crowley rubs at his eyes, waking up more fully, before looking at his watch.

“It’s only four in the afternoon,” he says. “Who’s setting off f—”

_Whizz. Whizz. BANG BANG BANG BANG!_

“— _uuuuuucking hell_ , fireworks at four o’clock in August? It’s sunny as anything out there, you won’t even be able to see them!”

“Youths, probably.” Aziraphale fills the word ‘youths’ with an air of condescension he doesn’t quite mean to. “Down on the village green or out in the fields.”

“You’re probably right,” says Crowley. “Found some old fireworks in their parents garage and thought they’d set them off. So rebellious and grown up—lighting matches and making loud noises.” He sighs. “I can’t fault their motivations, but can’t they find a quieter way of making themselves feel important?”

“Dare I ask what suggestions you’d give them, my dear?”

“The usual, you know. Hanging around in large groups to intimidate passers by, underage smoking and drinking, a bit of shoplifting. More harmless stuff.”

Aziraphale huffs, looks back down at his book, and mumbles, “ _Harmless?_ ” under his breath.

Crowley definitely doesn’t hear him, because a further series of whizzes and bangs sound from outside. This is followed by a volley of swearing from Crowley.

As Crowley jumps up from the sofa, Aziraphale angles his head down at his book, but keeps his eyes on Crowley as he begins pacing the room. It is mere seconds until Crowley begins ranting.

“Who invented fireworks, anyway? Crack bastard.”

“Wasn’t it you? Back at the end of the 10th century in the Song dynasty?” asks Aziraphale, though he already knows the answer. Of course, Crowley isn’t actually listening to him.

“What were they even thinking? Flash, bang, make a bloody nuisance?”

“I’m fairly certain that’s what you told Hell at the time, but when you spoke to me about it you said there had got to be a better use for gunpowder than just killing. And really, I think that was rather lovely of you, dear.”

Still not hearing Aziraphale, Crowley continues his tirade. “No consideration for folk with anxiety and trauma!”

“You couldn’t’ve taken that into account at the time. The concept of mental health was not at all what it is now.”

“And the animals!” Crowley suddenly stops his pacing and whips around to face the window. He looks distraught as he gazes out onto the cottage’s front garden. “They’ll be terrified.”

“Crowley—” Aziraphale closes his book and places it on the table beside his chair.

Before Aziraphale can get another word out there is another loud whizz and bang from outside. He can _see_ the moment Crowley snaps. Wide eyes become narrow and calculated. Crowley takes a step towards the door as his lips form a hard thin line. He takes another step.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale tries again.

“I can be terrifying, too.” His voice is low and full of demonic intent. “Village green, you reckon?” Crowley turns towards Aziraphale as he asks, and he can see his eyes have gone full snake.

“Please, Crow—” This time Aziraphale doesn’t even get Crowley’s full name out.

Crowley throws open the front door and drops across the threshold into his serpent form. Aziraphale can just see him slithering across their front garden and into the undergrowth towards the village.

Aziraphale considers going after him, but Crowley is so fast as a snake—he’ll never catch him up. And really, who _does_ set off fireworks during daylight hours? And in that number? It’s just unnecessary.

It’s obvious Crowley has a lot of pent up guilt he feels he needs to atone for… who is Aziraphale to prevent that? He won’t do more than put the fear of Crowley into the youths, and that’s done _wonders_ for their garden, so Aziraphale can’t really fault his methods.

With a nod to himself, Aziraphale picks his book up from the table. A snap of his fingers has the front door closing as he settles back down in his seat. He hopes Crowley won’t be long—he promised he’d make paella for dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://infinitevariety.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
